


Miner's Melody

by Spectascopes



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Character Death, Gen, Myla lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectascopes/pseuds/Spectascopes
Summary: Myla wakes up. What a horrible dream, of orange infection and nightmares.She should go and find her little friend.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	Miner's Melody

**Author's Note:**

> y'all gonna see this and think "what the FUCK is going on" because prior to this i have uploaded 41 whole undertale/deltarune fics and nothing else
> 
> i'm an epic pro gamer who just beat hollow knight and i have some Thoughts

There was suddenly darkness. Myla blinked, the pickaxe clattering to the stone floor beneath as she breathed. Bury… sisters… the song was not coming so easily now.

She looked down at her own claws for a few moments. Never had she been so enamored by the absence of song. She looked to her pickaxe, battered. How long had she been mining? The crystals weren’t singing to her anymore. Never had she been so enamored by the absence of song.

It was like something had happened, but she couldn’t remember what. The universe had said something and it had fallen on her deaf tympanal organs. Like being woken from a dream by something unknown. 

She’d been mining, hadn’t she? She wasn’t sure how long. She remembered mining, and she remembered…

“Oh!” she said aloud, turning to look behind her, half expecting to see the little wanderer. Of course! She’d been singing for them, and they were listening. They always came and listened to her sing, and they clapped their little hands when she finished. There was something in the back of her mind, a little nuisance of a memory, of her picking up the axe, of her… attacking.

She shook her head. Of course that didn’t happen! Why would she ever attack her friend?

She hummed and looked down at the crystals she’d been so vigorously digging into. They weren’t calling to her anymore, and what had she been digging for in the first place? She reached down and grabbed her pickaxe, illuminated by lumafly light. So nice of the little thing to stick around. 

Myla sat against the cave wall. She was quite tired, now that she wasn’t so confused. Perhaps a nap. Perhaps her friend would come and see her again.

The nap passed. A sleep went by. Soon a week had slipped away and still the little wanderer did not appear. Myla spent the days idly exploring her little section of cave, jabbing halfheartedly at the crystals, examining the rocks. Where were they? They always came by to listen to her sing!

Myla was not a bug to accept this behavior. She huffed and, with pickaxe in hand, she left the cave. She could probably defend against any husks that attacked, but… for whatever reason, she felt it in her gut that there wouldn’t be any. 

She trekked. She didn’t quite know where to go, as she’d been in the Crystal Peak for ages, but she sort of remembered where Dirtmouth sat. Perhaps a kind bug would help her?

She made her way through dark and empty caves and corridors. She passed by some form of temple- quite a grand structure! She stood at the doorstep and read the plaque- Temple of the Black Egg. She admired the architecture. She pressed on. Somebody had to have seen her friend. 

Oh, who had ever thought to put a chain here? Were stairs or an elevator not the better option? Myla stuck her pickaxe on her back and ascended into the little town of Dirtmouth, huffing and puffing. 

It took her only a few minutes to find a tall, old bug standing near a lamppost. They spotted her and they smiled.

“A new face? So rare in our little town these days. Perhaps you’ve come from the well?”

“Crystal P-Peak,” Myla said, happy to see a kind soul. “I’m looking for a f-friend.”

“Oh? If they’ve come through, I’ve surely seen them. What might their name be?”

“Oh, well…” Myla paused, running a hand along the handle of her pickaxe. “I d-don’t know their name… but they used to come and listen to m-my songs! They were small, uhm, with a white mask and horns… a n-nail…”

“Ah, I know of who you speak,” the kind old bug said. He rubbed at his chin. “I have not seen the tiny traveller in some time. They used to come bustling through here, buying out the shopkeeper’s wares, riding along the stagways… a curious one, they were.”

Myla frowned. “Oh… that’s worrisome. Thank you f-for telling me, uhm…”

“You can call me Elderbug,” he said with a smile. “And you might be?”

“My name is M-Myla!”

He watched a moment before cocking his head, towards the bench at his side. “Well, Myla, if you’re feeling tired, this old steel bench might be a welcome reprieve from your travels. And, if the little traveller thought so highly of your voice, perhaps you could sing a song for an old bug like me.”

Myla brightened. 

The shopkeepers knew nothing of the traveller’s whereabouts. Myla sat on the bench and stayed in town for a number of days, hoping she would find her friend, but it was not to be. Perhaps they were waiting for  _ her _ at Crystal Peak? In any case, she wasn’t finding answers in Dirtmouth. As much as she enjoyed singing for the Elderbug, she eventually said her goodbyes and began the trek home. 

Things were peaceful. Myla couldn’t remember a time without husks, but none bothered her. There was no terrifying glow of orange in any of the bug’s eyes- though most lay dead, the living did not attack. 

The looming Temple of the Black Egg came into view, the fog clearing enough for the little miner to spot a figure standing at its doorsteps. Much too tall to be her friend, and with a needle instead of a nail.

“Hello!” Myla called. Perhaps this stranger had seen her friend? Hallownest was vast, but as unlikely as it was, it would not hurt to ask.

They turned ever so slightly, the black voids of their mask unreadable. 

Myla went to the steps of the Temple to stand beside this tall stranger. They both took it in for a moment.

“I’m sorry to b-bother, but have you perhaps seen a little traveller around? Small, with l-little horns, and-”

“I have.”

Myla’s heart sped up. “Oh! Y-You have! That’s wonderful, do you know where they are?”

The bug was silent. She stared at the Temple for a long time. Myla waited, happy and patient, relieved somebody had seen her friend.

“I’m afraid I don’t know where they are.” The tall, red-cloaked bug looked down at Myla. “How do you know them?”

“Oh, well, they used to c-come and listen to me sing. In Crystal Peak, which is where I live,” Myla said. “They would show me their charms, and their nail, a-and… well, they were great company! Even if they never talked, and I… never learned their name…”

The bug stared at her, and then turned her gaze back to the temple.

“The Knight.”

Myla looked at the needle on the bug’s back. There was an orange stain on it. Such a familiar color. Myla was struck with a moment of clarity. The crystal halls tinted orange, a voice speaking to her, and… the little wanderer- the  _ knight _ . She  _ had _ attacked them, hadn’t she? She’d been infected, right? No more husks roamed Hallownest, though, so how…?

Myla was too caught up in her memories to notice the strange bug looking down at her. She was only shaken from her stupor when the taller knelt down, fiddling under her cloak for a moment, before bringing out a single charm.

It was nothing special. Gathering Swarm- Myla knew enough to know that it was a relatively cheap charm, but she’d only ever seen it pinned to the little knight’s mothwing cloak.

It was placed in Myla’s claws with utmost care. She didn’t need to ask what it meant, or why it was being given to her. She looked up into the other’s black, void eyes. 

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing them around anymore,” she said. 

Myla stared down at the charm. The stranger stood once more, turning back to the Temple of the Black Egg, her mask unreadable but the sadness palpable in the air around them.

Myla wrapped her claws around the charm and held it tight to her body. 

“Perhaps a song, little miner?” the stranger requested gently. 

And Myla sang.

**Author's Note:**

> myla my beloved


End file.
